CHAPTER XXVI
ON THE PRECIPICE
The air of gloom that enveloped Wharton Kendrick's home was almost physical in its intensity. It was with apprehension that I awaited the opening of the door, and it was with anxious eagerness that I looked to Mercy Fillmore as she stood behind the servant who answered my ring.
"Oh, Mr. Hampden," she exclaimed, as she advanced and gave me her hand, "I have been wishing you would come."
I was gratified at the tone of relief and confidence with which she spoke, but my response was to ask of the condition of Wharton Kendrick.
"He is still out of his head," she replied, dropping into a seat. "Sometimes he talks a little--a few broken words--but most of the time he lies there silent, with vacant eyes. If it were not for his heavy breathing we should hardly know that he was alive." Her sympathetic face was filled with concern as she spoke.
"What does the doctor say?"
"He tries to look cheerful and speak confidently, but it is such an effort, I am afraid. Yet for Laura's sake I hope, and try to be convinced by the doctor's words." Then she added quickly: "I said I wanted to see you. Mr. Parks was here to-day. We had a long talk, and truly, Mr. Hampden, I want you to believe that he is a man of noble impulses. He is so unselfish, so eager for the good of others."
"I don't complain about his instincts. His heart is in the right place, as the saying goes, but his head is upside down."
"Oh, Mr. Hampden, you do not understand him!" said Mercy in a pained voice.